


I'm Already There

by RavenpuffLove



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: #LF2020, #TeamEros, Body Horror, Graphic Description, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:00:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22653628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenpuffLove/pseuds/RavenpuffLove
Summary: As he suffers another bout of Cruciatus, Severus's thoughts wander to the reason for his current torture.
Relationships: Narcissa Black Malfoy/Severus Snape
Comments: 10
Kudos: 17
Collections: Love Fest 2020





	I'm Already There

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Charlie9646](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charlie9646/gifts).



> I really hope you like it Charlie! I don't normally enjoy writing short stuff because I'm wordy but I loved the prompt and this scene kind of took over my brain!
> 
> #TeamEros #LF2020
> 
> *I make no money, I'm just having fun*

Severus had been under the cruciatus so many times it seemed like he should be some kind of expert on it by now. 

He knew it backwards and forwards: The excruciatingly sharp sting that burrowed under the nails; the radiating burn in his gut with the static points of fiery horror where it concentrated, bringing bile up his throat to add insult to raw bloody meat that the screaming made of his esophagus; the grinding ache at every joint; the humiliation that never seemed to fade as he lost control of his bladder, the acidic urine exacerbating the pins and needles that stabbed more than pricked over every inch of his skin. 

Still, no matter how hard he occluded the pain burst through his defenses, more powerful than any legilimency, like a knife straight through his eye and into the soft, vulnerable meat of his brain. Over and over again. The sheer agony never ceased to shock him, as if his mind couldn't handle retaining the memory of it in high relief and stay sane. 

At least for once he understood why he was being cursed. 

The Dark Lord was unhappy that he'd made an unbreakable vow to help Draco. He didn't like that Severus's loyalties were split. He didn't like that Narcissa had taken things into her own hands.

Narcissa. 

Severus could see her shoes from his position prone on the floor, silk slippers in a royal blue so deep it was almost black, the hem of her robes just brushing them in front, perfectly tailored to the floor the rest of the way round, framing her delicate feet. When the curse forced the tendons in his neck to jerk his head up and too the side, saliva streaking his chin uncomfortably, her face came into view. 

She was immaculate. 

Her countenance revealed nothing. She remained blank, almost pleasantly so, her mouth a perfect straight line like her relaxed brows, no tension marring the graceful line of her jaw. Severus knew her though. Her eyes were wetter than they should be, the grey of her irises shining in the low candlelight of the dining room the Dark Lord had commandeered for his meetings. He'd seen the look in her eyes many times over the years. 

It was pity. 

That look hurt almost more than the curse itself. 

It's how she'd looked at him when he'd come back to the Slytherin common room as a first year, covered in stinking bubotuber pus that Sirius Black had somehow managed to make explode out of his bag after Severus had left it unattended in the library. She'd looked at him like that when he'd warned her that Lucius was trying his best to get Molly Prewett into bed, just to annoy Arthur Weasley. It was the look on her face when he made a fool out of himself by coming to her and Lucius's engagement party in his school robes because they were all he had. The same look she'd given him when the Dark Lord had used his fondness for Lily as a reason to test his loyalty, again and again. 

He didn't want Narcissa's pity. 

Like she had a leg to stand on. 

She'd been something once. Something better than the rest of them, when they were young and everything hadn't gone to hell yet. Narcissa had been living proof that they were better not just because of some abstract theory about blood, but by the sheer, obvious, superiority of her existence. She'd stood up to Lucius when he bullied the younger Slytherins, her spine straight and eyes flashing silver as she pointed a finger into her future husband's face. She was unerringly polite to everyone she met, no matter their house or blood status. She'd been uncommonly quick with a healing charm and taught Severus the most important lesson he'd ever learned, even if he'd never been as good at it as she had been. 

Never let them see that they've gotten to you. That's how they win. 

He twitched, the curse pulling another shriek from his damaged throat. Physical pain was the only vulnerability he dared express to this master, making just taking the curse almost easier than the times he had to sit by and watch the atrocities, pretending they weren't turning his stomach. Keep the rest bottled up. Never let the Dark Lord see that he's gotten to you, never let him know or he'll win. 

She never abandoned that lesson but the rest was gone. The politeness had morphed to an icy disdain, never rude but aloof, separate from everyone. Severus hadn't seen her use her wand for anything but simple decorating and beautifcation charms in years. He hadn't seen her stand up to Lucius since their wedding: Not when he made a fool out of her getting caught in brothels or Posy Parkinson's bed, not when he helped unleash a basilisk in a castle full of children, not even when he'd encouraged her son to be the bully she'd never let him be when they'd been in school. 

No. Narcissa Malfoy had no business pitying him, especially not while he took a curse for her. For her son. So that she could maintain the lie of fragility that she wove with her thin limbs and trembling fingers, absent a wand. So that the Dark Lord wouldn't think again about the fact that she'd never taken his mark on her arm and start questioning her loyalty. 

The cursing stopped suddenly, the Dark Lord abandoning them without another word, leaving behind only the chill trace of recent dark magic as a reminder that he'd ever been there.

The moment the other man had left the room she was on the floor next to him, silent tears gliding down her smooth face as she took her wand out and cast a dozen cleansing charms under her breath. 

“ Let me help you up, Severus.” She whispered, voice choking as she hooked an arm under his shoulders to help leverage him into a sitting position. “ The faster we can get you into a hot bath with some bruise paste in it the less you'll feel it tomorrow.” 

Resentment burned through him at the sound of her voice, almost the one he remembered from their youth, soft and kind but marred now with a tremble that made his heart ache almost as much as his tender skin. He didn't want to hear that subtle hitch as she spoke, like she'd sounded at Spinner's End when she told him she was afraid her son had been given a death sentence and he'd sworn to help, unable to resist her honest desperation. He didn't want the responsibility of seeing her vulnerability while he kept his own bottled up tight. Bitterness welled up in him until it broke the seal he kept on his emotions for just a moment, just long enough for a hint of the hopeless anger he felt at the woman he'd once respected to spill out of his lips along with a humiliating dribble of bloody spittle. 

“ Go to hell, Narcissa.” 

She stilled, the mask she wore so much of the time now settling over her face, straightening her spine and backing away from him, leaving him slumped over like a broken doll as she stood. The only trace of her momentary lapse of emotional control the quickly drying trail of tears over her cheeks. She looked down her nose at him, eyes steely and cold as she quietly replied. 

“ I'm already there, Severus.” 

As soon as the words were spoken she disappeared with a resounding crack, leaving him to resettle his own mask before returning to his other master. 


End file.
